Mr Grumpy
by Grigiocuore
Summary: From a wonderful prompt on Tumblr. Shawn is making a decent life as a bartender: he has his best friend, some flirts and thousand cocktails he can't remember the names of. Oh, and of course, he has Mr. Grumpy, the most gorgeous and haunted costumer ever. Fate steps in. Shassie AU


**Mister Grumpy**

-Social assistant.- Shawn said. -Yeah. Tonight I go for social assistant.-

Gus tapped his chin. -Mh, nope. Lawyer.-

-You _always_ say lawyer.-

-Because he's _always_ grim like a defense lawyer.-

They both turned back towards the counter, still pretending to clean the beer dispenser and not to stare at Mr. Guster sitting an the opposite corner. Mr. Grumpy wasn't his real name, but he was actually so grumpy that after months they still hadn't discovered his true name. Or anything else.

Shawn had four different identities for Mr. Grumpy: cop, lawyer, firefighter, social assistant. He had discarded broker because he was too angry and not smug enough, but anyway it had be something involving a lot of boring suits and butch-y stress. Mr. Grumpy was lanky, long awkward limbs and striking blue eyes: fair skin and dark hair suggested Irish ancestors. That night he was wearing a loosen tie and a ill-fitting blue suit that hang all in the wrong places. Shawn took a moment to appreciate the curve of the neck under the collar, the severe line of eyebrows. There was something messy and noble in him, like a cracked china cup. Some good glue, a wipe of glaze and he would be perfect. Beautiful.

Mr. Grumpy looked up and cast them a scowl. -Scotch.-

-Arrives.- Shawn pulled down the scotch bottle, and smiled at his cracked china cup.

Mister Grumpy came two times a week, inextricably, and always past dinner time. He ordered just a glass of scotch and sipped it slowly, blue eyes fixed on the counter without seeing it. Shawn thought he did it mostly for the ritual, the comfort of habit more than the alcohol itself. For sure he wasn't a happy man. He saw it in his looks, the line of lips, the way he held himself, at the corner of the counter, quietly, far away from anything. Shawn had been sure he didn't even see whoever poured him a drink, until one night Gus had said him Mister Grumpy had sometimes come on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, but then stopped. Tuesday and Thursday were the days Shawn wasn't in. He came just when Shawn was there too.

He and Mister Grumpy never exchanged a word. Ever. Shawn had tried in the beginning, like he did with every client, but he was met at best by a weak series of grunts and at worst by a rather impressive growl. Now he didn't even try. He just nodded to the man, poured him his glass, and managed to stay on that side of the counter for the whole evening, without saying a word, always in sight.

Things changed months after, at the beginning of November. It was Monday, so one of Mister Grumpy's days. Shawn was cleaning glasses perched on his stool, surveying the entrance, the glass of scotch already waiting on the counter. But he wasn't coming.

Shawn checked the clock. Nine. By then any damn kind of office should have been closed. He started to feel inquieto. He served costumers without even looking, dropped a ginger bottle, found any possible excuse to get out in the street, scanning the dark over his cigarette, all the while wondering where Mr. Grumpy was and if he was all right and that whatever it was he would never know what happened to him. He checked the door again at ten. And at eleven. Then around midnight Mr. Grumpy stumbled in, made a beeline for his corner and dropped on the stool without a sound. Shawn grinned wildly and pushed him his glass and a pot of fresh chips too, but there was something wrong.

Mr. Grumpy emptied the glass in two long gulps and hinted for more. His eyes were circled with red. Hands shook hard as he gulped down the second shot.

-Ehy man. Go easy with that.-

-'s not of your business.-

-Right. Wanna talk a bit?-

-No.-

-You sure?-

-Yes.-

\- You want a taxi for later?-

-Oh, for Christ's _sake_. What the hell do you care?-

-Nothing.- Shawn lied.

That became routine shortly after. Mr. Grumpy came in, head bent, strange hours, always on Monday and Friday, and methodically got himself wasted with a series of scotch shots. It was a very analytical thing that he performed without much pleasure, and it was concluded with him swaying a bit on the stool and feeling numb enough to look off the counter. Shawn knew it was nothing of his business. Fuck, he worked in a bar: he offered a service, if people made themselves miserable with it it wasn't his fault. He had decided long ago that he didn't want to feel responsible for things: it was a game he never really grasped and that most of the times kicked him right in the ass. Better to stay on the side, see the game, never cheer, never step in to play. The plan worked and it didn't make anyone unhappy. Still Shawn didn't like seeing Mr. Grumpy like that. Slack shoulders, stupid face, eyes bleak. Those weren't eyes supposed to be bleak: haunted yes, but not cheap, staring at nothing like a lobotomy patient. It felt wrong. It felt a waste.

Mind your business Shawn, his brain said. He's a grown man. He's fuckable, all right, but that's it, not a big deal. Don't screw it up. Chat with Gus, hit on the nice brunette smiling at the back table. Yes. Yes, that was reasonable. Wise. Good hint. His guts didn't give a fuck about reasonable.

-You think I should ask him out?-

-Ask _who_?-

-Mr. Grumpy. You think I should ask him out?-

-Shawn, you don't know a thing about that man.-

-That's not true.- Shawn took a sip from his beer. -I know he's probably some sort of detective, that he's recently divorced, that he likes horses and has as first fast-call someone tagged as "O'Hara".-

Gus restrained to a sigh. -Lemme guess. Gun holster and fresh ring print?-

-Yeah buddy. You're gettin' good at this game.-

-And the horses? And the fast-call?- Gus frowned. -Shawn, you looked in his cell?-

-Yep.-

-_Shawn_!-

-Gus, don't be the seal that doesn't play with the ball. However, I should ask him out?-

-I don't think it's a good idea. I mean, you're not even sure he's into it. And he seemed pretty screwed up without it, if you catch my meaning.-

Shawn didn't reply. Gus's eyed widened.

-Oh, _Hell_. It's for that, right? You want to ask him out to help him.-

-Ah, c'mon Gus, don't imagine things now. I just thought it could be fun. He's pretty, I'm pretty, we would look nice together. That's it.-

Gus grinned.

-Quit it, buddy.-

-You're doing a nice thing for someone else.-

-Nope.-

-Yes.-

-_No_.-

Shawn scowled. Gus was smiling and it didn't look like he was going to stop.

-Gus, swallow that grin or you'll regret it.-

Shawn Spencer was good at his job. He had landed there as he did with almost anything in his life, during a storm and with no intention to stay much past it; instead he had stopped. He wasn't coordinated in the least and he remembered half of the cocktail list, but he knew how to read people. He knew what he should say to soothe, or to cheer, or to piss them off, and in a bar it was a power that could not get anyone hurt. He started to know costumers by name. He rented a flat, dated some guys, some girls, and then there was Gus and this explained everything. He still ignored Pope's calls. Had no idea what he would do at the next storm.

-Okay. Now I call you a taxi.-

-No.-

-Oh for God's sake, dude. You are fucked. I can't let you drive like this.-

sadly played with his glass. -I don't want to.-

-So how do you plan to go home?-

He looked up. -I don't know. It doesn't matter.-

-It does.-

Shawn had had no idea what he would do until he did it. It was an upsetting feeling. He usually knew himself pretty well: buttons, pulls, the range of idiocy he could fall in. But the dorks accident, that caught him completely off guards.

On his defense, he was innocently preparing a margarita when it started. He had asked Gus to go picking storage, basically because Mr. Grumpy was already wasted beyond hope and he kind of didn't want to leave him alone. A bunch of dudes plunged through the door with a great deal of yuks and urli. It was Friday, nothing funny. Shawn didn't look up, put down the glass and knelt to find the shots tray under the counter. He froze a second after.

-Shut up, idiot.-

It was Mr. Grumpy's voice. Shawn peered over the counter.

-Ehy man. I did anythin'. Get away now.-

-No.-

The bunch of dudes had hit the stools and a washed blond guy was leaning hard against Mr. Grumpy. He was blinking, still not looking up, one hand clutched around the glass.

-C'mon, get the fuck off the place granpa. My friends wanna sit down. Don't be a pussy.-

-No.-

Mr. Grumpy's voice was thick and drawling, wrongly set, but Shawn knew the brim in it. He was angry. He was a type of angry he knew well, when all you want is the world to fucking shut up. It never helped. It almost always ended in regret.

-Man. Get off it. I m serious.-

Screech of stool. Mr. Grumpy got up in a dash.

-I said, _shut up_.-

-What the fuck is _this?-_

Shawn knew he was of no use in a fight. So he couldn't really get why he found himself on the other side of the counter, marching towards the blond guy without a second thought. -All right, all right, guys. Let's all calm down.-

That's the fuckin' time he'll get his nose smashed, he knew it.

-That dick was going to freakin' punch me.-

-I can still do it.-

-No you don't.- Shawn threw him a scowl, pushed his chest. -What the Hell are you doing?-

-It's none of your business.-

-_Bullshit_.-

-Ah, drop it man.- The blond guy said. -Granpa's too fucked to do anything.-

Mr. Grumpy roared and dashed out for the dork. The punch got wasted and he lost balance. He crashed on his ass, legs sprawled, the dudes laughing. The scotch glass rolled and poured on his head. They laughed louder. He blinked hard and groaned and tried to get up. Shawn watched it all and felt a gulp in his throat. It was wrong. It was a waste.

Shawn's hands stopped his. -No.-

-Leave me alone.-

-No.-

Shawn didn't let go. He pushed him on his feet, rearranged his shirt, softly, kept repeating it.

-No. No. No.-

Mr. Grumpy was shaking under his touch. He looked up. The cracks got clearer.

-Fuck off.- The shoulders backed off and Mr. Grumpy stumbled up and stormed down the room to the exit. The doors crashed closed behind him.

What the Hell.

Shawn watched him going with a hiss. Pointed a finger to the dorks.

-Ask my partner. Have fun. Don't mess.-

Then he strode across the pub and plunged past the glass door. was nowhere able to drive and considering what happened inside he could well pick a fight with a dumpster. Shawn peered across nightlights, down the sidewalk, right and left.

-Oh, Hell.- He ran forward. -Ehy. Ehy, you okay?-

Mr. Grumpy was slumped again the secondary door, hands on knees, head bobbing down among garbage sacks. He wasn't moving.

Shawn knelt in front of him. -Ehy, man. You're not dead, right?-

For a moment it actually seemed that was the case. Then a weak growl floated up to him.

-No.-

-Ah. That's nice.-

-I, I'm sorry. I'm not like this usually. It's just that. I. The keys. Victoria. I, and O'Hara, she's at the convention, and I can't, I just.-

-Ehy, ehy, chill. It's all right. There's nothing to worry about.-

He glanced at Shawn. -Go away.-

-I won't.-

-Go away. I'm going to puke my guts.-

-Ugh.-

And he actually did. Mr. Grumpy plunged on one side and Shawn had less than a second to shove his sneakers off firing line. He leaned in to hold a hand against his forehead and rubbed his back and whispered comforting nothing until he had nothing to retch. Mr. Grumpy half-collapsed back, breathing hard, face gleaming with sweat. He looks positively corpse-like. Shawn grimaced in sympathy.

-Uh, that was nasty. Better?-

-No.- He said sincerely. He turned slowly to Shawn. -I'm sorry. I like your pub. I'm not like this.-

-I know you are not.-

-You don't know it.-

Shawn sighed. He started to get up to get him a soda. A hand clutched his wrist.

-Don't go. Please.-

-I won't.-

-Thanks.-

-You're welcome. I got nothing better to do.- Shawn lied.

Mr. Grumpy smiled. Hell, there, with bloodshot eyes, half-dead, wasted to no end, he had the most beautiful smile Shawn had ever seen. He suddenly decided he couldn't keep calling Mr. Grumpy the man with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

-By the way, I'm Shawn.-

-Lassiter.-

Lassiter tried to lift a hand for a shaking. Shawn chuckled. Took the hand. He knew where he would be for the next storm.

-Nice to meet you, Mister Grumpy.-


End file.
